


Love is a Wild Thing

by NRGburst



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya Stark Returns, AryaxGendry Week, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Faceless Arya Stark, Fairy Tale Style, Gendry Waters-centric, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NRGburst/pseuds/NRGburst
Summary: For who could ever learn to love the lonest of wolves?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 147
Kudos: 278





	1. (flowers in the concrete)

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of an experiment, but hopefully it turns out! This chapter is for "Return of Spring."

Gendry has to admit King's Landing has risen pretty well from the ashes and ruins it was when he was last here.

Smells better than it ever has too- the new sewers lead to sea underground. Gendry almost can't believe it's the same place he spent most of his life, especially since he's currently in the throne room in the same Red Keep he used to stare up at, having just submitted the taxes from the Stormlands to the Crown.

Not that anything else he would have recognized would have survived. From the stories he's heard, even buildings made of stone and brick crumbled and melted under the blast of dragonfire, and then hidden wildfire caches from the Mad King's time took out half of the rest.

Doesn't really matter- home isn't here now anyway. And he's keen to get back to Storm's End with the supplies his castellan asked him to barter for. He's brought extra lumber, salt and pearls to trade, and they need grain of all kinds. Lord Bronn seems amenable to a standing trade deal with the Reach too, so they just need to work something out that's actually fair-

“Lord Gendry Baratheon. A moment.”

Gendry starts with surprise and turns back towards the throne. He was sure he'd done everything proper, just the way Ser Davos had told him. “Your Grace?”

“I have something from Winterfell for you,” King Bran says, and then he looks towards Ser Podrick, who starts approaching him with a plant in a wooden cask held ceremoniously aloft.

Confused, Gendry gives the king a questioning look. “...I don't understand.”

“These were my aunt's Lyanna's favorite. She was also skilled with a sword and despised injustice and bullies. My sister favors her rather strikingly.”

Gendry stiffens and swallows, bowing his head in consternation. The King's surely not talking about Queen Sansa, but why would he be mentioning Arya now? She'd sailed off west with his blessing months ago, and she'll likely never return.

Even thinking about her makes his heart twist, and he'd thought himself past recalling the foolish proposal he'd made; past wishing he could change it.

Wondering if he'd only phrased it different, if he'd waited until after bedding her again to ask, if her answer might have changed too.

He'd always assumed nobody knew about them and it's hard not to feel like his guts have turned to lead, facing King Bran and hoping he's not seen anything with that Three Eyed Raven business. He doesn't mention Arya though when he continues.

“Plant this at Storm's End. Continue to take care of your lands and your people. And when it flowers, choose one of the blooms. You'll have your heart's desire before its last petal falls.”

His mouth works as he tries to understand what he's on about, too baffled to use any of the formal phrases he's been told to choose from. “...I'll have what?”

King Bran smiles serenely. “Spring is the season of things growing anew. And some find root in unlikely places.”

Ser Podrick offers him the cask and speaks low. “Might not make sense now, my lord, but it will eventually.”

Gendry gulps and takes it, feeling like an complete fool as he offers an awkward bow. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Highborns and mad requests- he knows by now that these things go hand in hand. But what could it hurt, really, to just go along with it?


	2. Climbing over fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Running like a river trying to find the ocean_  
>   
>  (AxG week Day 2 Prompt: Let's get drunk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood for this chapter might have been set more by _exile_ and _my tears ricochet_ than _Love is a Wild Thing_ but I promise I will try to get there!

Dark and stormy nights aren't odd at all- the Stormlands are aptly named after all. This one's a little out of season --spring rains usually come as a steady drizzle-- but the fishing boats are in, livestock herded back into barns and stables, and Old Min's grandson had made sure Toothless Tom was under cover instead of wandering.

Gendry usually likes listening to the driving rain and pounding surf beating ineffectually at the walls while he works his way through one of the books from the castle library, sounding out new words and making a note of them if he can't figure them out. But he can't seem to focus on the book in his hands tonight.

That damned bush the King had given him has bloomed with blue roses, and he still can't figure out what it's supposed to mean, though he grudgingly chose a blossom and cut it as he was told.

Getting a thorn stuck in his thumb in the process- his hands must be getting soft from leaving off smithing for so long. It would be nice to work out whatever this restless feeling is by hammering something into shape.

He can't put his finger on it- it's a lot like that nagging sense that had driven him to keep smithing for the Lannisters, the one that had led him to Dragonstone and then north of The Wall to face undead hordes and war at Winterfell.

Only to find an actual castle of his own in the end, which _still_ staggers him. He still remembers how strange it had felt, to have the people here gaze upon him with stunned, joyful recognition when he'd been just another Flea Bottom bastard for most of his life.

The Stormlords had been markedly less welcoming than the smallfolk, but with Selwyn Tarth and Ser Davos Seaworth declaring for him and the Crown confirming how he'd fought in the War for The Dawn, the others had eventually fallen in line.

Knocking Lord Buckler flat with his new warhammer during his erstwhile rebellion had helped loads with that, too.

Now he's almost comfortable with people calling him Lord Baratheon; with being expected to make lordly decisions about maintaining roads and repairing wells. Settling disputes and reading news that arrives by raven.

And the idea of continuing the family line, now that he's the last Baratheon standing.

To his credit, Ser Farring isn't as pushy about it as he was before. While his castellan has mentioned repeatedly that one of the easiest ways to strengthen his position as Lord Paramount would be to marry and make an alliance, he'd also witnessed the tightlipped disdain of the ladies dragged in front of a former bastard blacksmith by their fathers.

“I'm not marrying another Cersei Lannister! Need to learn to read and write and … _do all_ _this_ ; not force myself on some girl who's horrified by how I eat,” Gendry had furiously protested, and Ser Farring had finally agreed that finding a suitable match could wait “until things were more established.”

Tongues sometimes wag that Lord Gendry might take after Lord Renly instead of Robert, but he's just grateful that the stupid parade of unhappy daughters has stopped.

Old Min, on the other hand, has no such compunctions about talking to Gendry about what his most important duty is.

Tonight, it's all, “Robert fathered at least five children, killed by wicked Lannister blades, may the seven grant rest to their souls, by the time _he'd_ become Lord of Storm's End.” She goes on about how the Baratheon line is long and proud, and how her mother and mother's mother all the way back had served in these halls. How she'd “practically raised Renly herself but she wasn't getting any younger.” That a bastard wouldn't even be amiss if he took his ease with one of the village girls.

Gendry's already edgy, but the suggestion that he act like some lordling prat and just fuck who he pleases hangs it.

“That's enough! You're dismissed for the rest of the night!” he growls, and tries not to feel guilty about the way her mouth pinches and hands clutch at her apron.

“Milord, I meant no disrespect,” she starts stiffly, and he makes a frustrated sound and shakes his head but he bites back any further angry words -she's just the old housekeep.

“Perfectly capable of pouring my wine myself. It's late and it's a stormy night- you should get warm by the fire in your quarters instead of dancing attendance on me. Makes your bones creak something fearsome, didn't you say?” he asks pointedly.

She sniffs and curtsies, mollified. “That's... very kind of you, milord. If you're sure you won't need anything else from the kitchens...?”

“Thank you. That'll be all,” he says firmly, gesturing towards the door of the dining hall and holding back his frustrated sigh until after she's left.

He downs the rest of his goblet and pours more, brooding as he stares at the blue flower. Old Min had placed it in water in a small, slim vase that his grandmother had apparently favored- “ideal for a single bloom to brighten the lady's table, with the water keeping it looking fresh longer.”

Gendry thinks it's only prolonging the inevitable- it's been cut off the bush, after all. Still, he has to admit it smells nice, even if there's been no magical stroke of understanding about what the King meant by it or why he'd mentioned Lady Lyanna.

He frowns as he recalls the history the Maester had made him learn- Lyanna Stark had actually been betrothed to his father. And it ends up she had run off with Prince Rhaegar instead of marrying him and it had tipped off the whole Rebellion.

So why would the King ask him to plant her favorite flower here?

His musings are interrupted by a thumping at the main door, just barely audible over the howling of the storm.

Gendry frowns and starts for the door. Must be Toothless Tom having another spell-

He double takes when he opens the door to find a stooped old woman wrapped in a cloak instead of one of the gate guards. Her eyes widen and her mouth works soundlessly for a moment before she manages to speak.

“I- come to ask for shelter, milord. Village inn is full up, guard says the stable's too full with livestock and nobody answered at the kitchen door,” she gasps weakly.

He blinks with confusion before stepping aside immediately- he can't believe that the guards didn't escort her; she's old and frail and it's pitch black in the yard. “Right. Well, be welcome under my roof and at my table. Both the cook and housekeeper have gone to bed, but I can stoke the fire so you can warm and dry off for now. Can't believe you're out alone in this blow- you can't be local?”

She raises her brows and shakes her head slightly. “Oh, from far, far from here. And a place at the hearth for the night is all I need, milord, no need to trouble your housekeep. I brought herbs for sale, good tinctures and balms,” she says, producing a basket from under the cloak before smiling with chagrin. “This storm was rather more than I'd bargained for, though.”

Gendry leads the way back to the dining hall, still confused despite her explanation. “Well, not storm season so it should blow itself out by the morning. Market day isn't for another two days, but the Maester might be interested in what you've got.”

He offers her the chair in front of the fire and she removes her sodden cloak before she sinks into it with a grateful sigh. “Ah, seven blessings on you, milord.”

He makes a dismissive gesture and shakes his head. He's slept on the ground in the rain before, and he'd not wish that on anybody, not least an old woman. He half wishes he could offer her the comfort of a proper bed in one of the guest rooms, but he would have panicked at being offered anything so clearly above his station in her place. “Least I can do. Can only offer you what's already on the table at this hour, but you're welcome to it. The baker will make fresh loaves in the morning so feel free to eat as much as you like.”

He finds her a goblet from the stand and turns when he hears her gasp. “Is that really a Blue Winter Rose?”

Gendry pours her some wine as he nods. “Maester says so. Was a gift from the King. Didn't understand half what he said about it, but he said it was from Winterfell.”

She nods stiffly, looking pensive. “From the glass gardens. Didn't know they would grow anywhere else. It's lovely.”

Gendry gives her a surprised look- she must be one of those Northern woods witches to know it from a glance. The Maester had had to look it up in a book. “Took awhile to figure out how to keep it dry and in the shade. Didn't think it would be good manners to let a gift from the king die.”

She dips her head and takes the goblet he offers seriously. “I do thank you for your kind hospitality. To your good health, my lord.”

He offers her a faint smile and raises his goblet and drinks as he knows he's supposed to. She knows the rites that he'd had to learn, anyway, taking the bread and dipping it in the salt once before eating it with the cheese on the board ravenously, in quick, small bites.

Well, he knows what it's like to be hungry like that too, and he deliberately pretends to be reading so she can eat without feeling like he expects talk. Most smallfolk are nervous about getting attention from highborns for good reason, and she's surely had a rough enough night of it without feeling she's got to bow and scrape. The wine will probably go to her head and put her to sleep soon, anyway- he remembers all too well how his first real Dornish Red had made him act the lovesick fool and even forget his own name.

But she surprises him by getting up more nimbly than he'd expected once she's drained her goblet. “More wine, milord?”

He blinks and pushes his goblet across the table politely. “Just a little.”

He frowns when she tips more into his goblet than what can be construed as 'a little' but she speaks even as she's filling her own.

“You might know Blue Winter Roses from the year of false spring. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen offered a laurel of them to Lady Lyanna Stark at the tourney of Harrenhal to crown her the queen of love and beauty instead of his wife, the Princess Elia.”

Gendry scoffs with amusement and takes a drink. “Might have started a war with those flowers, then. If she'd just married my father, the whole rebellion might not ever have happened. And I might not be sitting here now.”

She tilts her head reflectively and they both drink in thoughtful silence for a few moments. “...Fates are strange things. She was an odd sort of lady though. Rumored to like swordplay and hunting.”

Gendry frowns and sets down his goblet. “Swordplay and hunting are useful. 'Specially up north. I knew a beautiful lady from Winterfell who could do both. Didn't make her less beautiful.”

Didn't make it hurt less to remember her either, and he looks away.

The old woman smiles sadly and dips her head. “Ah. I stand corrected, milord.”

Gendry shakes his head and huffs bitterly. “Naw, you're right, actually. She was a lot like her aunt. Ran off and never looked back.”

He frowns again and stares at the flower. Was _she_ what King Bran meant about his heart's desire?

Maybe there will be news of her ship returning safely to Lannisport or Oldtown before the last petal falls. But he'll have to ask the Maester tomorrow, which means he should head to bed. He shakes himself from his reverie and stands abruptly before remembering to speak to the old woman.

“I- actually should get to bed, myself. Feel free to add more wood to the fire if you need. I'll leave a note for the housekeeper so she doesn't have a fright when she finds you here.”

She curtsies awkwardly. “Thank you, my lord. I bid you good night, then.”

He nods distractedly. “A good night to you too.”

He doesn't notice the wistful way her eyes follow him as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they weren't actually drunk but wine was involved.:P Next Chapter will be for tomorrow's prompt "Family Tradition"!


	3. Blooming in the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you try to hide it, it's gonna shine even more_  
> 
> 
> AxG week Day 4 prompt: Family Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this fic is rated M for a reason! It's not explicit but if you want to skip the sexy bits, jump down to the third paragraph.

He dreams of her that night, for the first time in weeks.

Waking up stiff and aching, he just reaches down instead of opening his eyes, sleepily recalling what it felt like to be inside her while she was peaking; to hear her gasping his name; to see her smile after, soft and dazed with pleasure. Release is both intense and quick, and then he lays there panting, wishing she wasn't just half-dream, half-memory.

It had been grueling and gruesome, dealing with the piles of bodies and desperately needed repairs to Winterfell after the war, when most of them were grieving the loss of friends, nursing wounds, cold and exhausted. But being her lover had got him through it: he'd felt so wanted- _adored_ , even; so thoroughly alive with every moment snatched together. He'd been working up the courage to ask Jon to knight him because he'd been so sure that she felt the same.

He still doesn't understand how he'd been so wrong. How he'd ended up with a castle and lordship and her dropping him cold.

He supposes he's still better off than his father though- at least he got to have and hold her for a short time. And at least he likes Storm's End; likes its people, and they seem to like him.

Upon registering the calls of birds outside, Gendry rolls out of bed to open the storm shutters and look at the sun rising over the water, taking a deep breath to try to clear his mind. He's always loved the way things are scoured clean after a storm- back in King's Landing it was the only time the streets were mostly cleared of shit and the air free of dust.

Here he's got extra duties to perform, but it's actually nice going out after being cooped up inside, sometimes for days at a time in storm season. So he takes one last gulp of the crisp morning air and then goes to get dressed.

Ser Farring and Maester Darren are already in their usual seats in the dining room, and the old woman who had arrived the previous night is sitting with Hot Pie and the rest of the staff at the servant's end of the table. She dips her head low gratefully when she realizes he's looking at her and he gives her a nod of acknowledgment before taking his seat at the head of the table and turning to the Maester.

“Morning, Maester Darren. Was wondering something last night: have there been any reports about the ship _Nymeria_?”

Maester Darren smiles beatifically. “A good morning to you as well, Lord Gendry. The ship that the Crown sent West of Westeros? I'm afraid I haven't heard any reports about it.”

Gendry nods and swallows. “...Right. Well, if you hear anything, could you let me know?”

“Of course, my lord. Shall I make an inquiry?”

Gendry shakes his head, feeling foolish. “...Naw. I'm sure if it was important news like that the Citadel would have sent out ravens.”

The Maester purses his lips before shaking his head politely. “Not necessarily. If they deemed the news irrelevant or unimportant to this part of Westeros, they may only have relayed such news to the Capital. After all, west coast matters –unusual tidal waves caused by tremors, for example-- don't impact us here on the east, and vice versa. But I can send a raven this morning if you'd like to ask.”

Gendry hesitates. It had only been a vaguely hopeful idea. “...No. Ravens that can make that trip are hard to come by, anyway. Just that I knew the captain. Would be nice to know if they ever made it back.”

The Maester nods with keen agreement. “Indeed, the mission into uncharted waters was quite a bold and unusual undertaking. Most ship captains wouldn't gamble with a new ship and crew, but I imagine our King has... other ways of gauging such risks. Did you meet Lady Stark in your time at Winterfell?”

Gendry stiffens, and he flushes, flustered. “I, uh... met her in King's Landing before that, actually. Known her for years.”

The Maester's eyes widen with surprise and he blinks. “-Ah. I see.”

Gendry doesn't like the way Ser Farring is also looking at him speculatively and he scowls as he stabs some bacon and bread for his plate.

But before he can change the subject, Hot Pie pipes up from the other end of the table. “You talking about Arry? She was a Stark. Remember that time she got us to walk right out of Harrenhal? _Mad_ that was, all the soldiers dead but still looking like they were standing! I had to leave my cherry stones-”

“-Not talking about baking _,_ ” Gendry interrupts, feeling both exasperated and oddly exposed, but Hot Pie just blinks and continues on obliviously. “Anyway, I saw her! At the inn, after the Freys was all found dead." He pauses, brow furrowing. "You think she had anything to do with that? Didn't the Freys kill her mum and brother?”

Gendry frowns darkly but Old Min speaks up before he can say anything. “That was the Father's Justice for breaking Guest Right,” she declares stoutly, and there are nods and murmurs of agreement around the servants.

Hot Pie's still looking at Gendry though, his eyes troubled, and the old woman sitting next to him has stopped eating, probably shocked as all hells about how the baker is addressing his liege lord without being spoken to first.

Gendry shrugs uncomfortably. He's always wondered but never asked her outright. “Don't know. Probably. Everyone I remember off her list is dead, and Walder Frey is nothing compared to the Night King.”

Hot Pie takes a deep breath and exhales while shaking his head. “...Little Arry, eh? She ended up pretty too, did you know that?”

Gendry just glares at him then, wondering darkly how to get him to _just_ _shut up already_ , but Hot Pie keeps going, obviously thinking aloud. “You were at Winterfell for that big war with the Night King too- didn't you see her there?”

Gendry can't even think of how to respond for a minute, and he can see how both the Maester and Ser Farring are both deliberately looking down at their food as his mouth works.

“I did,” he finally bites off, and Hot Pie finally seems to understand that he'd rather not talk about it or her and looks down at the table awkwardly.

“...Uh, pass the Butter?” he asks Old Min, and she does while giving him an admonishing jerk of her head.

Gendry covers his face with one hand and sighs before he deliberately turns to Ser Farring. “We checking the village and piers as usual after breakfast?”

Ser Farring straightens stiffly to attention and nods. “Yes, my lord. And the household staff have their instructions to check the castle for storm damage as usual.”

“Good. Want any repairs done as soon as possible so we can all enjoy the Market. Maester, we had a guest arrive late last night. The older lady there, next to Hot Pie. She's got herbs and things you may want to get a first look at before she sells them at Market.”

Maester Darren turns to glance at the other end of the table and inclines his head at her. “Excellent. I'm actually short on yarrow and elderberry.” He hesitates and clears his throat, before smiling pleasantly. “And, if I may venture a suggestion: I _could_ send a raven to King's Landing instead if you would like to make an inquiry. Doubtless the King will have been informed if Lady Stark's ship came in. Should take less than a day for the raven.”

Gendry pauses as hope flickers to life again and nods. “I'd... like that. Thank you.”

Maester Darren simply inclines his head. “Of course. My pleasure and duty.”

Gendry hesitates another instant before deciding to tell him anyway. “One thing- make sure not to use the word lady. She's never liked being called that.”

At the other end of the table, the old woman ducks her head and smiles.

* * *

The inspection of the village is fairly routine- a few banged up boats needing minor repairs; a couple felled trees that need removal. The only repair that's going to be any trouble is actually back at the castle: one of the storm shutters came off its hinge, falling several stories to the ground and is warped too badly to rehang.

Ser Farring shakes his head over it. “Happened at a bad time, my lord. The smith and his apprentice are still abed with fever.”

Gendry picks up the shutter and turns it in his hands. It's steel- a bit rusted, but decent quality metal. “Well, I can fix this. Nothing tricky about it. Just need to heat it and hammer it back. Maybe make a new pin for the hinge- looks like salt rust took the last.”

His castellan stammers, shocked. “It- it isn't _proper,_ my lord-”

Gendry snorts. “Been a smith a lot longer than I been a lord, Ser Farring. My castle, isn't it? Prefer not to have a gaping hole in it when it storms again.”

“But- but surely...somebody _else_ should do the work.”

Gendry makes a derisive face. “There another smith here I don't know about? Naw, if you can handle petitions for a couple of hours tomorrow, I can do this.”

He doesn't even care that Ser Farring looks like he's got a case of indigestion- it'll be nice, actually, to be able to make something with his hands again.

* * *

And there's more good news that evening.

“Lord Baratheon! A raven's just arrived from King's Landing,” Maester Darren says as he hurries into the dining room at suppertime.

Gendry unfurls the proffered message and reads:

_To Lord Gendry Baratheon,_

_The ship Nymeria returned to Westeros approximately two months ago and is currently berthed in Lannisport undergoing repairs. Several of its crew were lost on the journey but rest assured Captain Arya Stark was not among them. She brought maps and reports to King Brandon Stark herself and is likely currently en route to Winterfell to deliver the same information to the Queen in the North._

_I hope this news finds you well._

_Grand Maester Samwell Tarly_

He exhales with relief and smiles with chagrin at the Maester. “...Thank you. You must think me a fool for wasting ravens on that.”

Maester Darren chuckles and shakes his head. “Of course not, my lord. If anything, you are simply following a family tradition of sorts.”

Gendry blinks. “What?”

“Legend has it that Durran Godsgrief rebuilt Storm's End six times rather than yield his beloved wife to the Gods. And your father went to war for the sake of his betrothed.”

Gendry scoffs. “...Even though she was the one who left him. Stupid.”

The Measter's brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I simply think some emotions can prove... tenacious despite all logic and reason. Perhaps especially for Baratheons.”

A bit of movement catches Gendry's eye as a petal drops from the blue rose and flutters to the table, and he heaves a sigh, still no closer to understanding what it all means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be for AxG Week Day 5: Deja Vu.


	4. Faces that you can't see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even if you lose me, I will find you_
> 
> AxG week Day 5: Deja Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know what the _actual_ lyric is, but it's a punny title okay.
> 
> Also sorry this is late! All my assignments caught up to me in the middle of this week but I refuse to not finish this!

For a foggy moment after Arya wakes, she has no idea where she is.

That's the thing with being a traveller- waking up in a different place every morning becomes its own constant. But she's comfortably warm; there's no creak of planks or sound of waves and _she smells bread baking._

That has her eyes snapping open.

_Storm's End. Gendry._

She runs fingers over her hairline and neck to check that the face is still in place while she looks around warily.

She's been given a corner of the kitchens to sleep in, which Gendry's housekeeper had deemed more appropriate for a lowborn stranger than in front of the hearth in the dining room. It's not kept carefully clean, and it smells of the braids of onions hanging overhead, but it's actually far less drafty and more comfortable.

In fact, she feels so at ease here that she hadn't bothered with that semi-alert doze she usually uses when she's sleeping in a new place. She must have slept deep- she didn't even hear Hot Pie come in and stir up the coals and put his dough (which had been left to rise on the table overnight) in the oven.

He's yawning and placidly picking through a basket of berries while sitting in front of the oven, and there are no sounds of stirring in the rest of the castle. No wonder he went to bed before everybody else the previous night- he must always be first up.

It's been fascinating listening to the servants gossip. Gendry only keeps a small staff, which vexes Old Min, the housekeeper, who used to run “a much grander household” in days past. She concedes that there are far fewer guests and parties these days, and fewer demands for new clothing and feasts, but Arya suspects she'd feel better with another maid or two to order about and divide the work among. Maintaining Storm's End had had to come second after Lord Renly died and the Lannisters claimed control of the finances-- diverting all the gold they could to King's Landing to keep false Baratheons in comfort. Gendry's claim had finally put an end to that, but the years of neglect still showed in places.

Still, there's good food and ale at the tables now. Might not be any fancy roast goose or raspberry brulee like Old Min likes to reminisce about, but it's obvious they're all relieved the lean years have passed; how pleased they are to have a lord with real Baratheon blood back, even if most of their troubles actually probably ended because the Red Keep fell on Cersei's horrible head.

It's an incredible castle, with truly massive walls that face the crystal blue waters of the bay and a huge tower in the middle. It's never fallen to siege, and Arya half wonders whether Winterfell might have had an easier time of it against the Ironborn or the dead if it had been built like this.

Still, she's glad Gendry got it, even if she's still not sure he's really happy as Lord Paramount.

She'd been all set to go back up north before Bran had mentioned in that new, offhand way of his that Lord Baratheon was still unmarried, and holding his lands without alliance or heir.

Seeing Gendry brooding and determinedly alone made her wonder if she'd been wrong to try to set him free; hoping he would find somebody who could actually love him properly.

She's not sure she'll be able to answer that properly in this guise either, but she surely won't find out curled next to a sack of potatoes, so she makes a show of stretching and yawning.

Hot Pie looks up and smiles when he sees her up. “Morning! Sorry if I woke you! Go on and have a lie-in if you want, before Old Min gets here and sets you something to do. She usually gets up after Cook, and she don't like idle hands.”

Arya smiles. “Sounds like every housekeeper I've ever met. I don't mind a bit of work to earn my keep, though.”

Hot Pie makes a face and waves his dismissive hand. “Aw, you're a guest! Lord Gendry pays us decent to do our bit, so you don't have to worry about putting us out. It sure was lucky that he stopped by my old inn when he first got made a lord. Offered to make me Head Baker here after eating one of my pies,” he states proudly.

_Only_ baker, Arya's tempted to point out with a laugh, but she can understand why Gendry had made it sound special like that to get him to agree. And she's sure the cook appreciates not having to get up early to bake the daily bread as much as Gendry probably likes knowing Hot Pie is safe and well provided for here. The Riverlands had been plundered by pretty much every army passing through. It's a miracle he survived at all.

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

And now they're all in one place again. Maybe that's why she feels so comfortable here, watching Hot Pie happily yammering on while Gendry tries to ignore him and ends up listening anyway. Likes seeing how the people here have taken them in as their own. Whereas Bran the Three Eyed Raven and Sansa, all cunning and cynical, and Jon madly in love with his dragon queen had just made her feel more of a stranger in Arya Stark's skin. Like the only place she'd belonged in Winterfell anymore had been down in the crypts with the dead.

Maybe it's just nicer without all the crowns and power games anymore. She likes how much simpler this is, sitting in a kitchen with an old friend.

“...Is that what you're making with those? A pie?” she asks, and Hot Pie puffs out his chest proudly.

“Oh, not just the one! Market Day is real exciting round these parts. Going to have three kinds of pie: apple, nut and berry, 'cause they're always the most popular. Everybody round here will bring their best things to sell and there's usually even a minstrel or two. Cook usually makes special dishes too, and there should be other guests at supper.”

She can't help but smile at how excited he sounds. “Sounds wonderful. The Maester bought most of the herbs I had, so I'll have to remember to bring more next time.”

Hot Pie nods. “Well, lots of nice things to spend your pennies on, too. Be happy to have you back anytime.” He frowns, slightly puzzled. “Sorry- I don't think I got your name.”

She almost replies automatically. “No-”

But she stops herself and closes her eyes. Not anymore. It's taken her a long time to reclaim the pieces of herself she'd cut away.

Though she's not ready to reveal herself yet either. “I'm just somebody who loves a good pie and good people to talk to,” she amends, before changing the subject. “These old bones get stiff after being still all night- shall I fetch some water from the well?”

He blinks and nods eagerly. “Oh! If you don't mind, that would be right helpful.”

So Arya goes out into the courtyard to find the well, musing over how odd it is that this windblown, moody giant of a castle can feel so homey.

* * *

Gendry comes down to breakfast dressed in old roughspun, with his old leather braces on his arms and Arya almost laughs aloud at the horrified look on Old Min's face.

“Milord Baratheon!? Did I leave your clothes unlaundered?”

He scowls and lifts a dismissive hand. “No, no. Course not. Just the smith is still abed with fever and there's a storm shutter that needs fixing. Ser Farring will handle petitions this morning whilst I get that done.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops. In fact, most of those eating in the dining room seem to freeze with shock over this declaration.

Not Hot Pie though.

“Makes sense,” he says, nodding sagely, “Gendry used to be a smith's apprentice 'fore he got made a lord. He wasn't bad at making swords and things.”

Gendry gives him an affronted look. “Wasn't just an apprentice anymore!” he protests.

Hot Pie blinks with surprise and nods amiably. “Oh! Well that's good! Should be even easier for you to fix it then. You know, I been wondering- should I make three dried apple pies or just two?”

Arya knows she shouldn't be quietly choking back laughter over the way Gendry's mouth is working in a most undignified, unlordly way, but _she can't even help it_.

* * *

She's not laughing later though, once Gendry fires up the forge and starts working.

Arya pretends to be sorting the remainder of her basket, sitting by the stables, and she's not alone.

It's funny, how everybody seems to contrive some excuse to wander through the courtyard to have a look at Lord Baratheon firing up the forge and carefully choosing from the metal rods available before expertly heating, cutting and finishing the ends of the pins with various pincer type tools.

Then he pulls the heated shutter out of the forge and starts hammering it back into shape and Arya forgets to breathe.

_Oh good gods above._

She doesn't even realize he's noticed her staring until Gendry looks straight at her. Her brow raises a little in challenge –-as if half the maids and stableboys haven't been coming through the courtyard to take a long look at those arms and shoulders-- and she regrets it a second later when his eyes widen with confused recognition and he lowers his hammer, stunned.

He blinks and shakes his head before he swallows. “...Can I help you?”

Arya curses to herself and shakes her head mutely, quickly scraping a curtsy and hurrying back towards the kitchens.

That was foolishly sloppy of her. No one would have known better.

Maybe she really is Arya again.

* * *

He keeps looking at her with a frown when he thinks she isn't looking too, all through the evening meal and after, although she's carefully trying to avoid attention among the servants.

A new guest has arrived too, a minstrel, and Arya heaves a sigh of relief when he offers to play, drawing all eyes and ears. Gendry claps along with the livelier tunes, same as everybody, and even helps shift one of the tables to the side so people can dance.

He seems oddly preoccupied by how that shakes another petal loose from the Blue Winter Rose, but asks Old Min to take it to his rooms rather than toss it out, despite being rather obviously past its prime. Gendry keeps his eyes on the minstrel and absently keeps time with a foot, but he doesn't seem to be really enjoying the music anymore.

Arya can't help but notice that in contrast, Hot Pie is clapping and swaying from side to side enthusiastically, his feet shuffling on the floor, though he never leaves his seat to take a turn dancing.

“Why don't you get up and dance too? I've noticed Kyra has been making eyes at you to join her,” she points out.

“Oh no. Not me. Two left feet,” he protests, flustered, and Arya tsks and admonishes him like she imagines a proper meddling old lady would.

“You're young! And you're hardly going to learn just watching. If you're ever going to be able to dance properly, you should practice right. So get up already!”

She takes a sharp breath in when she realizes Gendry is suddenly standing over them, eyes blazing.

“You should practice right, eh?” he demands, breathing hard. He searches her face, obviously still desperately confused, but not able to hold back anymore.

_“Arya?!”_


	5. When the night bird sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh I can feel it, magic in your fingertips_
> 
> AxG week Day 6: Secret Talent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This one's going to be both pretty meta and uh, M rated at the end. ;)

She just looks like a wrinkled old woman --not even an older Arya-- but Gendry's _sure of it_.

Hot Pie is gaping at him like he's just gone mad, but surely nobody else does that eyebrow thing, not while looking at him like _that_. And he remembers that day at Harrenhal because the Tickler had fallen into the courtyard dead right after she'd sassed him...

She stands abruptly and he takes a step back reflexively but doesn't take his eyes off hers. And then she reaches up and pulls something off her face-

He doesn't even feel triumphant to be right. His heart just pounds and he pants with shock, staring while his mind spins in circles of _Arya, Gods Arya's here_ and _HOW?!_

Her hair's longer than it was, that scar she'd got fighting the dead has faded. And she's looking at him like she's about to cry.

“...You knew me,” she says huskily, in her own voice again, and he reaches with a huff of disbelief to cup her face, and she's warm and real. But he still can't think of what to say, only able to gape and shake his head as he drinks her in with his eyes.

“...I wanted to see if you were happy. Find out why you hadn't taken a wife,” she says softly, and she shakes her head. “I never meant to hurt you.”

That shakes him out of his shock, and he scoffs. “...You didn't want me. How was that _not_ supposed to hurt?”

That puts that familiar defiant look back on her face. “You were supposed to find a proper lady! One who could make you happy! You said you wanted to have a family!” she protests.

“ _You_ made me happy! And _you said-_ ”

He realizes then that he's shouting and that the music and dancing have stopped. Everybody in the room is watching them with stupefied shock, and to his annoyance, the minstrel has a delighted smile on his face.

_Shit._ _This is going to end up in a tavern song._

He looks back at Arya and she's obviously come to the same annoyed conclusion. “Come on,” he snaps, and he jerks his head towards the door and she gives a tight nod and follows him outside.

The sun's almost down but Gendry marches up to the battlements, waving away the surprised addresses of the guards on watch. He used to come up here a lot- feeling the screaming wind off the bay and seeing the surf pounding the rocks far below always made him feel calmer when he was frustrated but no longer able to just go and hammer steel until he felt better. He comes to a stop when he thinks they'll be well out of earshot of the guard posts and turns to Arya again, feeling his stomach flip flop again over the sight of her, still dressed in that old woman's dress.

“How did you do that anyway?” he demands. “Is it some kind of magic?”

She tilts her head in acknowledgment. “You remember Jaqen H'ghar?”

He nods. “...You named three people and he killed them for you.”

She nods, staring out over the bay. “I wanted to be able to do what he did. So I went to the House of Black and White in Braavos. And I learned how to become a Faceless Man like him. To become No one so I could pretend to be anyone.”

Gendry swallows. “So all that with the throwing knives and knowing Death...”

Arya nods. “Easier to take a life when you can get close without suspicion. But there was a price. I was supposed to give up being Arya Stark,” she admits. She shakes her head slightly before she continues. “The Man warned me the faces would be poison if they were used wrong. And for every wrong life I took while wearing a face, _the less myself I became_. I felt... more and more hollow.”

She turns and her eyes are sad as she looks up at him. “I thought being back in Winterfell and seeing my family would make me feel better, but it didn't. And being with you felt good, but it was still like I was just wearing a name- Arya's this time, instead of Lanna or Cat. So when you proposed...” she inhales shakily and shakes her head. “The life you were offering me wasn't mines to take and I knew it. You deserved somebody whole. I'm just sorry I hurt you.”

He inhales and looks away, breathing hard- it hurts, hearing her talk about it, but there's a kind of relief in it too. One thing still bothers him, though. “...Why leave?”

She looks out over the water and smiles wanly. “Jon sent up to the Wall, Bran in King's Landing, Sansa in Winterfell- my family was all scattered again, and even Winterfell didn't feel like home anymore. So I figured I could try to get a kind of fresh start. Find something new instead. And while we were sailing over I saved one of my crew from drowning. And the way that made me finally feel – _something_ \-- again made me remember why Jaqen H'ghar had offered me three names in the first place.”

Gendry frowns, searching his memory. “...You saved his life.”

Arya's brow quirks. “I actually saved three of them from that fire. _Only life pays for death._ So I kept saving people once we got to the other side of the sea– which is the far side of Essos, by the way. I fed the hungry and treated fevers and cut away gangrene. Until I had finally repaid my debt.”

That makes an odd sort of sense, but he still frowns. “You already saved us all by killing the Night King,” he argues.

She tilts her head at him derisively. “That is _not_ the same thing. Not to the Many Faced God, anyway.”

Gendry runs a hand through his hair restlessly-- it's a lot to take in all at once. And--“...you were still using a face, though,” he points out. “Pouring my wine, calling me milord-- bloody _curtsying._ ”

Arya arches a brow in challenge and gives him a cheeky smile. “Haven't killed anybody in it though, have I?” She sighs. “You're right, actually. I'm done with being No one. And this is my last face; I've already dropped the rest into the Sunset Sea.”

She takes it into her hands and looks down at it reflectively, even though it makes a shiver go down Gendry's spine to see it. “...You know, this was the first face I even touched in the Hall of Faces, and it's proven the most useful- everybody trusts an old medicine woman. And since the first step to becoming No one was to throw every piece of Arya Stark in the sea...”

She says something in another language before dropping it over the battlements and they both watch it flutter and spin all the way down until it's lost in the rough surf at the bottom.

Gendry gives her a searching look. She almost looks like she's going to cry again. “...You all right?”

She huffs a laugh and wipes at her eyes. “Never better. _Truly._ It _really is_ good to see you. And Hot Pie! I'm so happy he's your baker.”

Gendry gives her a fond smile, finally relaxing. It _is_ nice, to see her smile wide like that again.

“Just wanted to have one familiar face 'round here, if I could. He didn't mind- the innkeep at his inn has been killed and replaced twice now- too many soldiers going through and not enough food to go around. Riverlands and Crownlands aren't the best place to be living now,” he says. The North too, but he doesn't think she'd like to hear it.

“It's nice here. He's happy here, I think,” she says, giving him a searching sideways glance. “...Are you?”

He frowns as he considers and shrugs. “...I like it here. The people here are nice. It's nice being able to make people's lives better by fixing the roads and digging wells and things. Having the money and people to get things done that need doing.”

Her brow furrows and she tilts her head before giving him a smile. “...You didn't answer the question.”

He scoffs, exasperated. “Because I don't have an easy answer! I eat well, I have clothes without holes in them and I sleep in a nice bed. I have the respect of most folks round here, and I beat the only Stormlord who didn't think a Baratheon bastard should have Storm's End. Not the life I ever thought I'd have, but I think I'm doing all right with it.”

Arya gives him a thoughtful look before she finally nods. Then her expression changes mercurially into a teasing smile. “Speaking of beds, are you going to make me sleep in the kitchens again tonight?”

He snorts. “Is that where you want to sleep?”

And then he stops when he realizes she's got that look on her face again, her eyes travelling hungrily down his body before she looks him in the eye and smiles.

“No.”

Her eyebrow twitches in that goddamned way and he can't even think of a reply when his cock jerks to immediate attention.

But then she's kissing him and he just groans and pulls her close reflexively, kissing her back like he's been aching to for months. This is no memory-- she's warm and responsive in his hands, and she feels and tastes like heaven.

He doesn't even care that everybody is watching when he strides back into the castle with her shaking with laughter in his arms, her clever fingers already undoing the fastenings on his leather doublet. Doesn't care that he hears a couple of scandalized gasps when he carries her straight to his bedroom and kicks the door shut behind them.

* * *

And it's the singular best night of his life.

Always before in Winterfell, they'd had to steal their time together. He could hardly go up to the Stark's part of the castle past the guards Lady Sansa always had posted, and they could hardly fuck on the floor of the Great Hall where he slept with the other lowborn survivors (although others did, and he didn't blame them). They usually stole a few minutes of pleasure and connection on top of the grain sacks, not even all the way undressed like their first time, because it had been so bloody cold with the walls of the castle ruined.

Here she's naked and it's warm and comfortable and private, so he can kiss and touch her everywhere. Neither of them have to muffle their noises and he thinks nothing is so heady as hearing her cry out his name while he's losing himself inside her.

And instead of hurriedly dressing after, they can lay together between sessions, touching and kissing and laughing and talking. Catching up on the things they've seen and done, on the places they've been.

“Oh, come on. You must also have a secret talent of some kind,” she teases, tracing little circles on his chest.

Gendry shakes his head lazily and smiles. He loves lying like this with her tucked against him. “Won the rowing contest last Summer Market by a decent number of lengths last year? That's about it.”

She makes an unimpressed face and runs possessive fingers over his biceps. “With shoulders and arms like these? Hardly secret, Gendry.”

“Well, we can't all be Faceless Night King killers,” he says teasingly, but as soon as he says it he regrets it-- her smile fades and her thoughts seem to go inwards again. “-Hey, I didn't mean it like that.”

Her eyes lift to meet his and she smiles again, warm and happy, and squirms up to kiss him again. “...I know.”

He doesn't want to think about what's going to come after. He just wants to spend the whole night making love to her as many times as he can; hearing her laugh and seeing her eyes light up like they used to.

Trust Arya to never leave a thing alone, though.

“...Never did find out why you haven't gotten married,” she points out.

He stiffens and frowns, suddenly not comfortable looking at her. “...You were wrong. Turns out no highborn lady felt she'd be lucky to have me. Didn't really matter though- defeated the challenger without needing a marriage alliance. And Old Min's been running the castle just fine for ages.”

She nods. “But what about a family?”

He doesn't know what it is about her, always managing to find where it hurts the most and insisting on poking it. And he can't keep the bitter crossness from his voice. “Look, Arya, unless you're offering-”

“I'm offering,” she says softly, calmly.

Gendry turns abruptly to stare at her, mouth dropping open. He just boggles for a second before huffing an astonished laugh, searching her face, her eyes, for a sign that he must have misheard. The hope that's piercing him is bringing tears to his eyes. “You-you're serious?”

Her mouth quirks mischievously and she shrugs a shoulder. “If you're stupid enough to turn me down again, I'm going to have to just keep fucking you until I fall pregnant and Bran makes you.”

He has to laugh then, and he rolls to cover her body with his. “...Pretty stupid of you to tell me your wicked plan,” he says fondly, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. _Gods, how he loves her._

She grins triumphantly, threading her hands possessively into his hair and tugging him closer. “You were always stupider. The whole castle watched you carry me up here to ravish me.”

He chuckles before he kisses her. “Guess you win either way, then.”

And Gendry's so happy about it that he makes love to her again, blissfully unaware as the last petal falls off the Blue Winter Rose across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and all the wonderful support! Couldn't have made it to the end without you guys. <3
> 
> I know the first bit was rather meta, but upon seeing the prompt, I wanted to go a little deeper to address the Facelessness and Emotionless!Arya arcs we were given in S6-8 than I had in [To Temper Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877969) last year. I hope it makes sense- she was so abruptly _cold_ after murdering the Freys, (like she never laughs on screen again, for the whole rest of the series) and all the "it was her ~trauma" explanations didn't ring true for me. So I went back and re-watched and I think this explanation fits the magical worldbuilding done in series. I also wanted something more restitution=resolution after rewatching AtLA for other fics and having Zuko's redemption arc kicking around in my head.
> 
> Thanks also to Kacey Musgraves for writing one of the best songs ever- you can listen to [Love is a Wild Thing](https://youtu.be/iwrxzuD2zsc) on Youtube here. <3
> 
> ETA: Made a promo edit for the fic on tumblr [here](https://nrgburst.tumblr.com/post/626224339550961664/when-the-night-bird-sings-love-is-a-wild-thing)! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Any kind of feedback is much appreciated. <3 I'm [nrgburst](https://nrgburst.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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